No Money Mo’ Problems: The Exploitation of Poverty in our Criminal Justice System

by Kelly Lynch

Back in 2020, Zach, a local resident, was given a citation for not having car insurance. He couldn’t afford to pay the fine which led to his driver’s license being suspended. He still needed to work in order to pay bills and survive, so he continued to drive. After getting busted two times for driving with a suspended license he served six months in the Alachua County jail. He now faces debts in his collection accounts and cannot legally drive for five years. He owes money to a complicated web of collectors, and can’t even drive himself to work in order to pay them off.  

Zach’s story is not uncommon. In fact, he is just one of the millions of people in Florida who have a suspended license, not for unsafe driving, but for unpaid fines and fees. 

The criminal “justice” system is catastrophically unjust. One of the main factors that determines your ability to navigate the criminal legal system is money. As a nation, we are putting poor people in traps through the carceral system, and expecting them to climb out without question. We are cultivating cycles of poverty and despair, and then wondering why no one can get it together. 

Throughout the state of Florida, including here in our community, there are laws, punishments, fines and fees that target the poor. Trespassing charges for people experiencing homelessness, license suspensions for nonpayment of citations, and the extensive court costs that come with all these things are just a few examples. Here in Gainesville, someone begging for money can be punished with a $50 fine, plus up to 60 days in jail. You didn’t misread that. Fines like this may be a minor inconvenience to wealthy people, but to someone struggling financially they can cause life-changing economic damage. The fines and fees associated with police interactions across the nation have indebted people an estimated tens of billions of dollars. These debts disproportionately impact low-income individuals and families. 

Race is also a factor. Systemic racism drives vastly different outcomes in the criminal legal system here in Florida. While the state population is only 17% Black, disparities in arrests, prosecutions and sentences result in Black people making up 47% of the prison population. Here in Alachua County the disparity is even more extreme, with Black people making up 67% of the jail population despite only being 19% of the local population. These arrests and the debts created from them unfairly burden and exploit low-income families and entire neighborhoods in our community. The carceral system targets the most financially vulnerable of populations, overpolices them, and then puts them in cycles of debt that they can almost never successfully climb out of.

Targeting the poor is not working. The Brennan Center for Justice reports that performance standards for court clerks in Florida expect only 9% of fines for felony cases to be successfully collected. This leads to more arrests. Despite the fact that debtor’s prisons are illegal in the US, there are many occasions where a person isn’t jailed for their “crime,” they are jailed for their inability to pay for fines and fees. While many incidents may start out with one unaffordable fine, as in Zach’s case, they often end with people trapped in a cycle of arrests, court fees, incarceration fees, and probation/supervision fees. This is one reason that Florida is a top contributor to mass incarceration. 

Exploitative situations like Zach’s are costly, cruel and counterproductive. At Community Spring, we refuse to sit back and watch it happen. We want to live in a community where your neighborhood and socioeconomic status do not increase your chance of arrest. That’s why the fellowship class of 2023-2024 is campaigning to Decriminalize Poverty! in Gainesville and Alachua County. We are working to highlight the overpolicing of low-income neighborhoods and limit the unjust financial burden of fines and fees that trap many of our neighbors in cycles of debt. We are also creating a “Know Your Rights'' training series to provide community members with the tools to better navigate the injustice of the criminal justice system. Follow us on social media or join our email list to stay up to date and learn how you can get involved. 

Breaking the Locks & Creating the Links: Reflections and Next Steps

Our 2022-23 Community Spring campaign, Links Not Locks, has come to a close, but the work will carry on for many years as we continue to disentangle the behavioral health and justice systems. In reflecting on what we’ve done and where we go from here, I wanted to share some key things we learned and some really simple things you can do to improve behavioral health in our community. These problems can often seem too big to do anything about, but the reality is that there are things we can do together to make our community safer and healthier.

What we learned

Over the course of the campaign, we did a ton of research and talked to dozens of people in our community who are involved with every level of the behavioral health system. From a focus group of people affected by mental health and criminal justice to service providers and government officials, we aimed to learn about the system from every angle. 

In November, we conducted a focus group of 12 justice and mental health-impacted people. The amount of insight and empathy that was shared in the room cannot be overstated. And the experiences that were shared all had clear overlapping themes, including:

• Mental health and trauma are not openly discussed. When things like trauma and addiction come up, it’s never with a light shining directly on the issues or with a sense of compassion and understanding. Instead, it’s almost always punitive and shame-based.

• The mental health care system is not easily accessible. Asking someone to navigate the healthcare system, make appointments, keep appointments, and jump the transportation hurdle is a near-impossible task for people in crisis, especially at the poverty level. 

• The experience of mental health care can be traumatizing in itself, especially when required by the justice system. With its isolation rooms, locked doors and power imbalance, mental health care often mirrors, or is interconnected with, the carceral system. When they were ordered by a judge or probation officer to show up and share openly in a group or with a clinician who feels disassociated and unrelatable, most folks didn’t find it beneficial, and for some, it made them feel worse. It’s hard to find these services healing when the threat of re-arrest looms over your head at every turn. 

• There is little oversight of these systems. When problems come up, or you’re not being treated well, there is not a way to raise those concerns to people who can actually help make things better. If you do raise issues, you’re seen as a ‘problem patient’ and invalidated. 

We also talked to many people in charge of running these systems and saw how much the justice system is used in the place of a truly supportive mental health system. Funding and resources flow to the justice system in a way they simply don’t for mental health and human services. In 2022, Alachua County spent about $39 million on the jail but only $14 million on its Community Support Services division. There are more people with mental health concerns housed in the jail than in local treatment facilities. There are 35 spots in the mental health diversion court where people could be connected to resources, but unlimited spaces in criminal court. The bottom line is that we have tons of resources and space for punitive measures, but we make healing measures nearly impossible. 

While some of this imbalance is accidental, we also found a widespread understanding that maybe this is just how things should be. I recently had a police officer tell me, “Sometimes, jail is a good thing because it's the only way we can connect someone to medication and if they’re lucky, they’ll get into mental health court.” I understand why he had that perspective, but it completely discounts the traumatization, isolation and life-interruption of jail itself. If we want a safer, healthier community, we need to reduce stigma around mental health and make it safe for people to seek support rather than forcing them under the threat of imprisonment. 

What we did

As we built Links Not Locks, we started to see a way forward. We saw that we need to improve the quality of our current behavioral health care systems. We need to meet people in crisis with the appropriate response and support rather than punish, isolate and cage them. And we need to reduce stigma around mental health and addiction. Here is some of the work we did to make things better (see our website for more information):

• We shared our own stories through articles and made explainer videos from local organizations on how to manage crises. 

• We connected with local mental health providers, including Carol Lewis, a clinical psychologist with UF Mobile Outreach Clinic, who has an amazing program that teaches wellness tools to grassroots leaders so that they can share them with members of their own community. 

• We successfully advocated for peer positions to be added to the oversight board for the Central Receiving System and the Public Safety Coordinating Council, which will help ensure the voices of impacted people are heard by people in power.

• We created a zine highlighting the current alternatives to calling the police when someone has a mental health crisis. It’s already being used by local organizations and social workers as a helpful guide. 

• We developed a proposal for an alternative first responder program that would meet people in crisis with a supportive, appropriate response. This team would consist of a medic and mental health professional and would be available through 911, 988 and a hotline. 

Next steps

While the fellowship is coming to a close, the work will continue in several forms, and together we can build a safe, supportive community for people with behavioral health concerns. Here are some ways you can support or get involved:

• Reducing stigma - Sharing your experience with mental health or addiction and encouraging others to do the same is the first and most critical step toward treating these issues as something that needs care instead of punishment.

• Support the development of Community Responders - We are continuing to add supporters for our alternative first responder proposal. If you represent a business or organization, please consider signing on here.

• Justice Impact Collaborative - We have created a group of justice-impacted people and front-line social workers that get together monthly to share information and work on collective issues related to the justice system. If you or someone you know has been impacted by the carceral system and would like to be involved in changing it please email MLScottblog@gmail.com so we can invite you to the next meeting.

Rolling the Crisis Dice: Calling for Help During a Behavioral Health Crisis

By Leigh Scott

I recently had the unfortunate experience of trying to get mental health support for someone very close to me. They were in an acute crisis. The co-morbidities included trauma history, brain trauma, and a history of addiction all exacerbated by recent loss. Trying to navigate the mental health system while they were in crisis was made all the more difficult by the fact that they were on probation. 

If I called for a wellness check, I might have gotten a co-responder unit that included a mental health worker, but police involvement invited the potential for escalation or violation of probation. The Alachua County Crisis Center’s Mobile Response Team wouldn’t have intervened because there was a legal history that included violence. I couldn’t call the Gainesville Fire Rescue Community Resource Paramedicine program because it wasn’t during operating hours and there wasn’t any acute drug involvement. They could not just go to therapy because of the history of seizures and potential brain trauma, and that’s not a realistic option in the middle of a crisis. 

I felt stuck. Frozen. Helplessly watching someone I love struggle. If there had been any outside observers of their behavior, police would likely have been called and they’d be sitting in jail waiting to see a judge who cared very little about brain trauma, history of mental health issues or any other mitigating circumstances. This would be a cut-and-dry violation of probation and this person would sit and wait on their fate with little to no mental health intervention. (I know all too well how easy it is to end up with incarceration instead of support - read about my personal experience here).

If someone in our community has a behavioral health crisis, there are several gaps in the system. To start, if someone is in fear of the police or has been traumatized by institutions, they will not call 911. Even if they seek alternative emergency responses, the currently available programs are limited in the support they offer and are not always easily accessible. For example:

• The Alachua County Crisis Center is a great resource for mental health support in our community. It also has 24/7 Mobile Response Teams for mental health crises, but they do not dispense medication or handle physical health issues, and there are several things they will not respond to (e.g. someone with a history of violence).

• The Gainesville Fire Rescue Community Resource Paramedicine (CRP) program is amazing. CRP shows up to overdoses and addiction crises and travels with a medic and social worker to build relationships and connect people to resources. However, it does not have a mental health component, is not dispatchable from 911, and does not operate 24/7. 

• The co-responder programs consist of a mental health worker from Meridian Behavioral Healthcare riding along with a crisis-trained police officer and can be dispatched via 911. They do not operate 24/7 and the rules of engagement require the officer to make first contact, which can leave the mental health support as an afterthought. And of course the  co-responders still include the police, which carries the risk of trauma, physical harm and arrest for the person in crisis.

The current system is outdated and unable to respond to present-day needs. 50 years ago paramedicine didn’t exist as a profession, but it was recognized as a crucial gap in emergency response. Similarly, while our modern first responder system has some good parts, the currently available resources each lack a key cog in the wheel of behavioral health. It should not be a guessing game as to what you’re going to get when you call for help. In the situation I faced, or any of hundreds of other examples of people in our community in acute crisis, what’s needed is support and what people are getting is a huge gamble on whether they receive care or incarceration. 

Dozens of communities around the country have already started building alternatives that show how our systems can work together to offer people support and resources in crisis. One prime example is CAHOOTS (Crisis Assistance Helping Out On The Streets) in Eugene, Oregon. CAHOOTS is dispatchable through 911 and offers not only immediate stabilization of individuals in acute psychological distress and addiction crisis, but then offers follow-up support or care, referrals, advocacy and transportation to their next steps. Each team travels with a medic and behavioral health professional so they are ready to help in whatever way the case calls for. Eugene is a university city of comparable size and demographic makeup to Gainesville, so CAHOOTS is a feasible model for our community. 

That’s why Links Not Locks is advocating for an alternative first responder program. We envision teams of medics, mental health professionals and social workers, easily dispatched from 911 or 988. See our proposal here or visit our website for more information. These teams could address all angles of behavioral health - whether that’s medication, mental health counseling, rehab or community resources - without police intervention. An alternative crisis response will save lives and connect people to the support they need in real time. Otherwise we are just frozen; paralyzed in fear by having to roll the dice that you may get an armed response rather than a compassionate one. 

No Adults in the Room: My Journey Navigating the Mental Health and Carceral System

By Leigh Scott

There is a unique problem in America - using cages as the answer to behavioral health concerns. Locally, there are over 1,000 beds available at the Alachua County Jail and only 35 at the rehab center. There are unlimited spaces in the criminal court, but in the mental health diversion court, where you may be connected to resources, they are limited to 35 slots. 

For someone caught up in the system, it often feels like there is not a reasonable adult in the room who can say, “Something is wrong here.” No one narrative can capture the myriad of absurd and terrible things that result from this overreliance on incarceration, but here is my personal experience of needing compassion and instead receiving cruelty.

The Devastation

In 2007, my wife passed away on our fifth wedding anniversary. I was a young widower and a single father of two. It was a gut punch of epic proportions. There are all the emotionally ravaging, sleepless nights you would expect - watching your son say goodbye to a coffin, having to answer your five-year-old daughter about why mom isn't coming back, sleeping alone at night with the impression of your wife still outlined in the blankets. But what you don’t see are the real, tangible effects it has. You go from two incomes down to one. The person you’ve trusted for years to make decisions with is suddenly not there. Those effects last long after the well-wishers and casseroles run out. Soon you’re left to navigate your devastation on your own. 

This is the part of the story any reasonable human would say, ”Go get help. Seek out therapy.” I agree. If I had that magical rewind button it would be the first thing I’d do. But the thing with trauma is that when you’re in it, you don’t see how bad the effects are. Plus, when you are a single father hovering around the poverty level, resources and time are very limited. You’re in a numbed-out-running-on-pure-adrenaline mode where you do anything you can to just keep getting through the day and not appear in pain to your children. 

Two years passed and I was getting worse. Every night I went to bed and thought about suicide. I rationalized it by saying, “The good parts of my life are over and the kids could get life insurance if I make suicide look like an accident.” I’d developed some bad habits with self-medicating, lack of sleep, poor diet, self-loathing, and survivor's guilt to the point I couldn’t enjoy anything. And because of all those habits, a deep sense of shame. It would only take a small storm to blow me off course. 

The Storm

The storm came in the form of an argument with my friend, which finally pushed me over the edge. I took our shared vehicle and went to CVS to get something to drink. While I was at the counter, I saw the chemical- computer duster. If you’re not familiar with computer duster, it's an aerosol can that you can use to clean your computer keyboard off. It can also be misused as an inhalant. It was a quick way to pass out and could also kill you. Either of those options sounded like a winner. So I got a can and went to my car and started inhaling. Inhaling this duster is like sending you into a time portal. Inhale it, pass out, wake up 30 minutes later, and inhale it more. This goes on for a really long time and you lose all sense of time and direction and, most importantly, don’t have to feel for a while. I thought I was gone for about 15 minutes and apparently was gone for almost eight hours. 

My friends and family were freaking out. They were unfamiliar with how to respond and were concerned, rightfully so, that I was going to commit suicide. So they called the non-emergency line, not 911, thinking this would be less punitive. They conveyed the problem. “Leigh has been gone for hours. We think he’s using inhalants and trying to commit suicide. He is in our car, our shared vehicle.” The woman at dispatch stated very calmly, “Well he hasn’t been gone long enough to be a missing person, but if you report the car stolen, we can have sheriff's deputies look for him.” 

The Force

At this point, I was in and out of consciousness and alternating between driving through a neighborhood and walking. I saw my friends and family and the look on their faces was not good. “Leigh, what are you doing:? We’ve been looking for you.” I responded, “I don’t wanna live anymore.” Now, the thing about duster is - when you inhale, it gives you this slooooow, deeeeep, air-filled space-voice. So it came out, “AHHH dooooon’t waaaahhhna liiiiive anyymooooore.” As I was walking, I saw the cops. They yelled, “Freeze, Mr. Scott!” I inhaled the can one last time and yelled back, “I’m alreaaadddyyy froooozen!” This did not elicit the laughter I had hoped. They seemed mad. Big mad. They promptly released a dog on me. The dog bit me around the legs and ankles. I tried to kick it away so they flipped me over on my belly and reached underneath me and tazed me. Seemed like the appropriate amount of force for someone who is suicidal and intoxicated. Just for good measure, they punched and kicked me as well. The headlines in the paper the next morning read, “Rookie deputy has electrifying first day on the job.” Ha-fucking-ha. 

The Cage

I was now in the belly of the beast - the Alachua County Jail. Because it was a suicide attempt, I was stripped of all my clothing and placed in a green straightjacket-type suit known as “The Turtle Suit.” I was taken to H-pod. The entire way there, I was mocked and laughed at. “Oh, he gon’ kill himself. Not the turtle suit. They got you in the turtle suit?” Cops and inmates alike, laughed as I was led to a solitary confinement cell. I got one phone call, but nobody answered and now I was alone. No pillow or mattress, I curled up on the concrete floor and began to cry. I remember how cold my tears felt on that floor. How alone I felt. How scared I was. 

I didn’t know anything about jail, the legal system, or mental health care. I didn’t know how long I’d be there or what would happen to me. Nobody visited me for at least two days. No visits from medical or mental health professionals, and my food was slipped through a slot in the door. I was allowed out of my cell for one hour a day to pace around by myself and use the phone to make collect calls that nobody knew how to answer. 

After a week, a mental health professional came to see me. She was stoic and devoid of care. She read from a list of questions that were clinical and never once looked up at me. “Are you a harm to yourself or others?” “Do you take medication?” “Do you have a support system?” After five minutes, we were done. Back to my cell. Was I getting medication? Going home? Does she know where I can get a support system? The answer to all those questions was no. I did not have $1,000 to bond out, my support system all had their own lives and were too busy to help me, my kids were being taken away, and I was not leaving jail. 

I learned then that once you’re in jail, wearing that uniform, you lose your identity as a human. The attitude among jail staff is, “This is just the way things are, and I’m just doing my job.” And it’s not just the guards that lack compassion. Nurses, therapists, pastors, and addiction counselors all come with bias that affects their ability to provide care. 

The System

This terrifying, lonely time in the mental health pod at the jail went on for weeks until one day, I got a visit from my public defender. I’m not even exaggerating a little bit when I say that she looked like the Beetlejuice character that smoked the cigarette through the hole in her throat. She came in and said, “You are facing Grand Theft Auto and Battery on a Law Enforcement Officer for kicking the police dog. Maximum of five years”. I was astounded. No prior felonies and, more importantly, I didn’t steal a car. My friends and family had already gone to the State Attorney's office to sort that out. But the Beetlejuice lawyer was unfazed by this fact. “If you take this to trial, you could get a dog lover on the jury, and then you’ll get the maximum.” She advised me to enter what is known as an “open plea” to the judge, which means I would forgo all of my rights to a speedy trial and just hope for a merciful judge. 

What I didn’t know at the time were two essential facts: 1) the job of a public defender is not to exact justice for you, it’s to save the state the financial burden of a trial, and 2) my judge was what is known as a “million-year judge,” or a judge whose sole mission is to give out a million years in prison during his time on the bench. With those two facts omitted from my decision-making process, I agreed. And I got the maximum - five years in prison. All from being depressed, inhaling duster, getting beaten, tazed, and bitten by a dog. My reward for all of that was not mental health counseling or support or resources, it was further isolation and brutal treatment at the hands of the Florida Department of Corrections. 

The Alternative

At no point in my story, was there an adult in the room that offered support, care, or had the guts to say, “Something is wrong here.” This is how our community has decided to respond to a mental health breakdown. The solution was for me to be in a cage. It has yet to be explained to me how this was “justice” for me, my family, or really anyone at all. 

If you’re trying to withstand the storm of a mental health or substance use crisis, life feels lonely and fragile. But it doesn’t have to be that way. What if our fragile existence was met with support and understanding? Imagine if the first responder had been a social worker instead of an angry cop with a taser and a dog. Or if there were actual therapeutic services available at the jail instead of cold floors and colder people. Or a justice system that aimed for fairness rather than just caging people as long as possible. Or, to go back to the root of things, readily accessible mental health and substance use services that were rooted in the community. These things are possible, but first we have to be the reasonable adults in the room who can stand up and say, “This is not ok.”

Love and Trauma: How we move through the world

By Kenjee Roker

Links Not Locks is a campaign focusing on the intersection between mental health crises and incarceration. I've seen time and time again that when folx are in crisis, they are met with force and stigma instead of the help and community support they need.

Last year, my life was filled with what seemed like a never-ending crisis triggered by a series of car accidents. After the first car accident, I was physically and emotionally wrecked. After the second, I was financially wrecked. And after the third, I was homeless. 

My childhood was rough. Prior to these car accidents, I had spent three years healing and growing from my trauma. I pushed and dragged my body forward just to survive. All the work I had done made the fall that much harder. When in a crisis, life is scary. The walls are closing in and crumbling at the same time. 

The links and connections I made were the things to heal me and help me get back on my feet. I found safety and comfort in my friends and community I fostered over the years. These were the people who came to my aid. During my eviction, a dear friend of mine rallied folx to help cushion the blow financially. My community opened their hearts and homes to me. 

I wish I could say that everything is fine now. But that is not how trauma works. I will likely carry it with me for a long while. My loving community, however, helps stem the impact of my past trauma. They ground me and guide me through difficult times. Community builds resilience. 

Trauma and love in our lives serve as major guideposts for our actions, values, and coping mechanisms. They often dictate our trajectory in life - especially in times of crisis. It's not uncommon for people in crisis to revert to what seems like erratic behavior when, in fact, it is a trauma response. Unfortunately, all too often, these cries for help are met with stigma and punitive action. I was lucky enough not to have been incarcerated at one of my lowest moments, but I can’t say the same for so many other folx. 

In our campaign Links Not Locks, we envision a community that doesn’t use incarceration as the answer to public health issues, but instead connects people to mental, behavioral, and cultural resources that are rooted in the community. Our approach to addressing these issues will be two pronged: (1) Expanding programming for mental health and pre-arrest diversion in the community and (2) reducing stigma about mental health and substance use. 

As you reflect on my story, let me leave you with some questions to ask yourself: What wounds would guide your reaction to a crisis today? What would the reaction be of your community to your crisis? Would it be stigma? Would they call the cops? Or would they come to your aid?

Reinvest in Housing: The GCRA and the Affordable Housing Crisis

By John Wise

Housing in our community is increasingly out of reach for many of our neighbors. There are about 19,000 people in our community who, after paying for the cost of housing available to them, are left with only about $25 per day for other expenses – that’s $175 per week for food, utilities, health and child care, transportation, everything. 

The Gainesville Community Reinvestment Area (GCRA) has both the power and the responsibility to play a central role in solving what is quickly becoming an affordable housing crisis. In fact, the 10-year, $70 million budget of GCRA represents perhaps the best opportunity to truly transform our community’s housing. But that opportunity is largely being missed, as those funds are not being prioritized for programs that will have a meaningful impact on affordability. 

Reinvesting in what?

Since 2019, GCRA has been a city department that is supported by tax increment funding from both Gainesville and Alachua County. In general terms, that means that a portion of the taxes raised in the “reinvestment area” are set aside specifically for redevelopment there. 

So how are these funds being spent? This graphic from the City of Gainesville’s “2022 Affordable Housing Framework'' gives us an idea of what the GCRA is currently prioritizing for its housing initiatives. Of the $5.1 million the GCRA has budgeted for housing work this year, $3.3 million (64%) will go to Heartwood. This cluster of single-family houses will – after about 13 years – utilize the former location of Kennedy Homes to become the flagship of the GCRA’s affordable housing work. 

For context, 172 households used to have deeply affordable housing there. It is returning as a subdivision with 34 detached homes, 11 of which will be affordable for people making up to 120% of Area Median Income (AMI), or about $98,000 for a family of four. 

Reinvesting in who?

Who can afford a Heartwood home? From the Heartwood information packet, the 11 “affordable” homes will be in the $190,000 to $210,000 range. The program will contribute up to $70,000 per home, and the buyer will have to contribute 2% of the sales price for down payment. 

Obviously, this will be wonderful for the 11 households who can access these homes. But the problem with this model is that it focuses most of the GCRA’s funding on housing for moderate income households instead of the people who are most acutely impacted by the affordable housing crisis. Those who can afford to put $4,000 down and get financed for a $130,000 loan aren’t feeling the same pressure that the 19,000 people who are severely housing burdened in our community are feeling, and they’re not feeling it by many orders of magnitude. Put simply, the people who are most in need of housing support won’t be able to live at Heartwood. 

Reinvest in Housing

To make a real impact on our community’s housing crisis we need to fully realize GCRA’s transformative potential. It’s time for a change in tactics. Here’s what the GCRA can do to refocus on the most pressing needs of the people living in the reinvestment area:

1. Make sure that truly affordable housing is prioritized for funding. 

This year alone GCRA will spend over $5 million on housing programs, but most of that money will not reach the people most in need of assistance. The vast majority (84%) of the funding is targeted to moderate income households via Heartwood and the Model Block/Attainable Housing programs. These funds should be refocused on housing development for households earning 50% of AMI or below.

2. Utilize public land in an intentional manner. 

There are stellar opportunities to utilize public land in the reinvestment area for affordable housing development. For example, the 8th and Waldo area and the Power District. Between them, they are 57 acres of land in the center of Gainesville. There is the potential for dozens if not hundreds of affordable units on these properties. These are tremendous opportunities to develop new affordable housing in desirable locations, while also ensuring that any redevelopment is actually inclusive of people at all income levels. 

The $70 million budget of the GCRA could help turn the tide on our housing crisis. It’s time we recognize that opportunity and prioritize affordable housing. That would be real reinvestment in our community. 

Why the Pursuit of Happiness Is Always Political

By Sydney Lee

“Let me just say: Peace to you, if you’re willing to fight for it.” - Fred Hampton

I want you to imagine a scenario to keep in mind for the rest of this piece. Imagine you are satisfied with your life as a whole, whether this is a scenario about your hopes for the future or your life in the past or present. 

I want you to now become more conscious of this vision. Where do you imagine yourself? Do you see yourself with a sustainable dream job, or in a stable home? Having a great car? Having children? Do you imagine yourself having mental wellness or access to mental health resources? Where do you see yourself living? Are you in a good neighborhood or possibly far away from the city and owning a lot of land?

We’ve all heard the saying “money cannot buy happiness,” but does that really apply within a capitalist context, where our access to money directly affects our survival? For example, nationwide our housing crisis is rapidly worsening; no state has an adequate supply of rental housing that is affordable and available for extremely low income households. In our community there are nearly 16,000 very-low income households who are paying more than half their income towards their housing.

The reality is that our happiness and desires, whether as individuals or as a collective in the US, do not exist outside of a capitalistic context.

Let’s go back to the scenario I asked you to imagine earlier. I want you to now take note of how many of those things you were imagining are things that would be considered privileges in this country. For example, the things I mentioned earlier: stable housing, access to living-wage jobs, access to transportation, having children, and access to mental health resources, are all treated as privileges.

The point of this exercise is to show that our happiness is greatly influenced by our context and our ability to participate in societal systems. We are conditioned to believe that our lack of happiness and fulfillment in life is a personal problem and the fault of the individual, but that’s more often than not untrue. Our happiness and long-term fulfillment is directly related to our personal needs being met, like through a stable living environment and a community of folk who will show up for us.

Reflecting on our quality of life can be very telling about our needs. It is very difficult to be satisfied with your life when you are struggling to survive and sustain yourself, and that’s not always a reflection of something being faulty within an individual. The lack of satisfaction in our lives is almost exclusively a response to our circumstances and unmet needs.

When you are forced to assimilate to a system that makes human necessities inaccessible you begin to internalize that you need to earn or deserve them. You work harder and harder to assimilate to these harmful systems to meet your needs instead of fighting back, and you do so because sometimes it’s just easier that way when your options are incredibly limited.

The pursuit of happiness will always be political in this context, and our true fulfillment within life will come with the abolition of these unjust systems. We cannot treat individuals without targeting the actual problem — the systems that are harming us in the first place. In fact, there are no individual problems underneath oppressive hierarchies, and knowing this fact can be one of the first steps in liberating ourselves from the shackles of toxic individualism and bootstrap mentality. 

So before you ask yourself “why aren’t I happy?” maybe it’d be more supportive to ask “what needs am I asking to be fulfilled? Is this really a result of a personal failure within myself, or am I being personally failed?”

Housing policy has failed, and continues to fail, Black and Latino People

By Lacoyra Lynn

As stated by David Von Drehle, “History is not just about the past. It also reveals the present.” This is clear when you consider how housing and race interact in our community and country. The United States was founded off the oppression, indoctrination, and enslavement of Indigenous and Black people. Throughout our nation’s history, Indigenous people, Black people, and other people of color have suffered at the hands of greed and apathy. Indigenous people were pushed from their homes onto small, secluded reservations. Black people were subject to slavery, and if not enslaved they were subjected to the slums -- rundown, crowded, and harsh living conditions. Black, Indigenous, and other people of color are still experiencing isolation, poor living conditions, and discrimination in the housing market. However, more specifically, Black and Latino people are the ones suffering from these issues the most in Gainesville.

First, consider housing segregation. During the early 1900s, the federal government established a program to increase housing by noting which neighborhoods consisted of either “desirable” candidates or “risky” candidates for mortgage loans, also known as redlining. Redlining exacerbated residential segregation and further disadvantaged people of color, especially Black people. Due in part to these policies, residential segregation between Black and White people in Gainesville and Alachua County is strikingly apparent. There are several neighborhoods which are nearly 100 percent White or 100 percent Black (Statistical Atlas). This isn’t surprising since several of these neighborhoods even used to have racial covenants that prevented non-White people from living there (Imagine GNV Comprehensive Plan 2030). Residential segregation matters because where people live dictates their access to transportation, health care, job opportunities, education, and more. With so little of Gainesville’s resources being on the east side, many minorities, specifically Black people, are missing out on essentials towards a better life. 

In terms of living conditions, Black people suffer the most from housing problems in Gainesville. Around 20 percent of Black households in Gainesville have no mechanical air condition systems of any kind (Understanding Racial Inequity in Alachua County). Florida’s weather is too hot for this to be a reality of any kind. People may question why they can’t just move. But even if they could acquire the needed wealth to do so, they are still likely to be discriminated against when looking for a home. For example, as of 2018, “45 percent of African Americans report experiencing discrimination when trying to rent or buy housing” (Discrimination in America: Final Summary).

People of color are also disproportionately impacted by unaffordable housing costs. As outlined by the City of Gainesville’s recent Exclusionary Zoning & Inclusionary Zoning Study, there are several conditions which contribute to unstable and unequal housing outcomes in Gainesville: racial segregation, housing cost burden due primarily by low-incomes, and new rental housing disproportionately benefiting student renters. In each of these conditions, Black and Latino people are the ones most disadvantaged. While locally, most White people are able to build wealth through homeownership, more than two-thirds of Black and Latino households are renters, and even then, the average rental unit is currently only affordable to the typical White or homeowner household in Gainesville. As rent continues to skyrocket and wages stay low, things will only get worse for Black and Latino people. Despite knowing this, many of the solutions that are proposed to make housing more affordable target moderate-income households (80% to 120% AMI). 

This is a problem because, on average, people of color have less income than their White counterparts. For example, in Alachua County, the median White household makes about $52,000 per year, but for Black people it is around $27,000 and for Latino people it is around $32,000 (Understanding Racial Inequity In Alachua County). Not only this, but a huge proportion of people of color are in poverty. Given that the Black population only makes 54 percent of the overall AMI, any affordable housing solutions which target 60 percent, 70 percent, or 80 percent leave out most of the people who have historically needed it the most. If we want to improve affordable housing to include Black and Latino people, we need to focus on 50% AMI and below.

In the United States, affordable housing and homeownership is one of the greatest catalysts towards financial upward mobility, stability, and well-being. Despite efforts to improve affordability, marginalized people are still mostly left out of these endeavors. The systems have failed Black and Latino  people and continue to do so despite progressive efforts to include more affordable housing. As advocates for affordable housing, it’s important to understand how marginalized identities and oppression have played a role in making even “affordable housing” unaffordable. 

What Stats On Affordable Housing Won’t Tell You: Another Look at the Same Truth

By Julius Irving

If I told you the truth would you believe me? If by some chance you were to believe me, what would you be willing to do with that truth? Well, I’ve heard the truth and I believe it. Millions of people around the world, including myself, are living this truth everyday. One of the many things I'm doing is sharing my inside out perspective of this truth with the hope of opening eyes, ears, and minds to a truer telling of a crisis that goes beyond what statistics can express.

The truth is that the battle with unaffordable housing is a silent but huge factor in the physical, mental, and emotional traumas that affect many families daily. Every time I’ve heard government officials speak on the affordable housing crisis it has always been from the black and white perspective of statistics. It has rarely been through the gray area of personal experiences or any actual knowledge that goes beyond stats. I could tell you that 40% of your neighbors are living in substandard housing, or that 18,000 of them are paying more than half their income towards housing. But while those numbers are accurate they still don't tell the whole truth.

Instead, imagine living in a small two bedroom apartment that you share with your pregnant fiance and two young daughters in a neighborhood where you don’t feel safe. To let your children go outside and play can sometimes feel terrifying because of the messed-up conditions of the community, and the energy of the atmosphere surrounding your home. So, you don't allow your children to go outside unless they are going to school or somewhere with you.

Just to get downstairs to the parking lot you must walk through large clouds of cigarette smoke, drugs, loud music, foul language, and fighting. 

You feel like you can't even make it a few steps outside your front door without being asked for money, asked for drugs, offered drugs, or just witnessing or hearing something you’d simply prefer not to. 

These are the same issues you grew up dealing with and watched your parents struggle through. Now you’re a parent trying your hardest to find a way out and a way to provide better experiences for your children. These are the same neighborhoods you were raised in which left you mentally, physically, and emotionally scarred. 

Now hold that thought, and add to it the fact that you pay $950 a month to live in an environment like that. When combined with utility fees, just those two bills alone take well over half of your monthly income. That leaves you with far too little for you and your family’s basic costs of transportation, food, healthcare, household products, laundry, clothing for your growing children, and school supplies. That’s not even considering things like birthdays, holidays, and anniversaries; these honestly can sometimes feel like punishments when you’re already struggling to provide and maintain your basic human needs. With so much of your income going towards housing alone, it's a given that some things will have to be sacrificed. You find that you often have to decide between cheap food or healthy food, between using the air conditioner or enduring the summer heat, between paying for a ride to work and not eating that day. Daily, you feel the pressure of your situation, and you wonder if everyone is also pretending to be ok and happy.

This is my story, but it doesn’t belong to me exclusively. Countless people in my community have similar experiences. When hearing stories like this, it's easy to view me and my family as victims and the people smoking and hanging in my parking lot as villains. The truth is we are all damaged and suffering through the same experiences. Each person is just at a different place in their own traumas. My neighbors had to pay the same price I did to live there, and so does everyone else in that neighborhood and others like it. The truth is there’s absolutely no difference between us, expect that you’re getting to hear a small part of my story.

Study after study has shown that poor living conditions and inadequate housing results in poor mental and physical health. So we know that access to safe, affordable housing can actually be the difference between packing the hospitals and jails or increasing graduation rates and reducing violent crime. And yet, despite this knowledge, people in power continue to overlook these issues. Our culture blames the people suffering the consequences of inadequate housing, instead of the system that caused the problem in the first place. People in these situations are often labeled with dismissive terms like lazy, poor, or criminals, and are treated like they are stains on society that are lowering property values. This idea is so far from reality. The truth is that these people are victims of a greater problem: a flawed system created and controlled by the rich for the rich.

If things are going to change, we have to understand that the truth about affordable housing is a lot bigger than money, land, buildings, and property values. I challenge you to take this truth and make it a part of your everyday life in the same way it's a part of my life. I believe only through a drastic, far-reaching change in the way the masses think and behave can this problem truly be eradicated. (R)evolution time is NOW!

Shining A Light On Affordable Housing

By Lacorya Lynn

Air, water, food, sleep, clothing, and shelter are all basic physiological needs. However, for many people, unaffordable rent means that they must prioritize shelter at the expense of their other needs. Food, health, safety--these are all things that we as Community Spring fellows have had to sacrifice to have a place to stay. Because of our backgrounds and our knowledge of other affected people, we decided that housing affordability is the most pressing issue that we want to challenge. This is how the Lighthouse Initiative first sprang into being.

The word cloud above reflects the discussions our team has had about the importance of housing and what it means to them. As you can see, housing impacts nearly every aspect of our lives, and we want to find ways to make sure everyone has an affordable and safe place to call home. Through this campaign, we will educate people on housing accessibility, change public perception about affordable housing, and increase the amount of affordable units that are available.

Accessing Housing

Knowing where and how to access resources is essential. There is some housing assistance already available - not nearly enough, but some - however, many people do not know how to connect with it. The Lighthouse Initiative seeks to address this disconnect by providing useful information in the easiest way possible. Our team has experienced barriers to housing because of language differences, or after coming home from incarceration, or after domestic violence; therefore, we know the importance of housing assistance being easily and readily accessible. Housing should be accessible to everyone regardless of any situational or language barriers.

Shifting Public Perception

Many people do not realize how a lack of affordable housing can negatively impact someone’s life, whether that’s their health, education, or interpersonal relationships. And while lots of people say that affordable housing is important, few people understand the scale of what’s needed or who really needs help. Even worse, too many people in our community have become complacent in thinking that affordable housing is just something that is unachievable and dismissible. We aim to change these conversations. The Lighthouse Initiative believes everyone deserves a place they can call a home, a place in which they feel safe and comfortable, and a place where they do not have to prioritize rent over food or other critical needs.

Increasing Affordable Units

Perhaps the biggest issue with affordable housing is simply that there is not enough to go around. There are over 13,000 extremely low income families in desperate need for affordable housing in Gainesville; however, only around 2,000 affordable units are available (Shimberg Center).  We will pull together creative solutions to increase the number of affordable units, and advocate for systemic changes that will achieve greater housing justice. The status quo - with people spending more than they can afford on rent, prioritizing their housing over their health, losing their homes because they can’t afford it, and worse - is simply unacceptable. We will change the balance and find new ways to increase affordable housing in Gainesville and Alachua County.  

Over the next several months, the Lighthouse Initiative will build a campaign to ensure that everyone has access to stable, affordable housing where they can feel at home. By helping people access housing, changing public perception, and increasing affordable housing availability, this vision can become a reality. A reality in which everyone has a place they can truly call home.